


Ouvrir

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Bed Warming, Ficlet, M/M, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4561857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond is given the start of something lovely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ouvrir

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Thranduil speaks of his gift much, forcing Elrond to show gratitude again and again for something he hasn’t yet received. It allows Thranduil to retain his level smirk all evening, to act as though he owns this kingdom as much as his own, and Elrond, as usual, patiently endures it. When dinner’s finished, their children off to bed, the two of them retreat to the high platform where Elrond often holds council with visiting lords. He’s sure Thranduil has little to say of use—this meeting was mostly a formality and at the urging of their heirs, wishing to see long-left friends. For Thranduil, Elrond had the best wine sent for, and for Elrond, Thranduil announces, “I will leave you with your gift.” He rises from his seat, nodding his head in a gesture that isn’t quite a bow, and turns to sweep his silver robes down the steps. The purple evening light filters in through the stone pillars, the gardens falling hush below. Three elves arrive in his absence.

Elrond stands for them, expecting some elaborate trinket to be placed on his stone table. He has little use for the jewels Thranduil still covets, but for all Thranduil’s peculiarities, the common forms of wealth are still what he considers the highest value. Yet the two outer elves place only a scroll and a small box atop the table, then bow their leave. They dip much lower than their master. The third bows all the way to the floor, kneeling between his retreating kin and pressing his forehead to the stone. A simple golden circlets wraps around it, his dark hair swept neatly down his back. His robes are a soft pink like the petals of a flower, his posture perfect. He doesn’t rise, merely lifts so that his face is no longer to the floor. His knees stay bent, palms lowered, spine attractively arched. Elrond lifts one brow and turns to the scroll. 

It’s a list, of sorts: a contract, he would think, except Thranduil doesn’t really _contract_ his servants: more lists their uses. This elf’s begin innocent enough but quickly descend into skills Elrond hasn’t experienced in years. His cheeks almost flush from reading it, and he stops halfway through, attaining the gist. He has no such attendant in his employ, but it doesn’t surprise him to learn that Thranduil does. He can guess what’s in the box before he opens it, but he still clicks open the lid to find a thin, silver collar inside. A single diamond is embedded on the front, a shimmering pendant hung from it. Elrond’s name is engraved there. The collar and the thought are lovely gifts, indeed. Ones he’ll have to thank his guest for.

But he doesn’t consider sentient creatures things to be given, and he turns his attention to the trained concubine laid before him. Thranduil’s elegantly labeled it ‘Bed Warmer,’ but the scroll makes it clear that Thranduil’s confused the term. Or perhaps he thought himself coy. He’ll likely be smirking with amusement in the morning. 

The kneeling elf is very beautiful. He keeps his gaze lowered as Elrond approaches him, and it gives Elrond the chance to study his fair features, washed softer in the sunset. Perhaps if Elrond were younger and brash, he would accept such a present, so artful and promising, but he knows he can’t. Still, he intends to be careful with his rejection, and he asks first, “What is your name?”

“Lindir, my lord,” the elf answers, his voice melodic: one for a minstrel. “But I will take another, if you wish.”

Elrond has to fight to stifle his frown. He would never do that, and it’s displeasing to learn that Thranduil might. He’s never yet met an elf unhappy to be under Thranduil’s might, but things are different in Imladris. He explains softly, “You are a very tempting offer, Lindir, but I am afraid I must deny this pleasure; I have no wish to be forced upon any elf.”

Lindir startles, quickly restraining himself again, but for the first time, he dares to look up. His lips part, small and pert, eyes large and innocent through dark lashes. “It would not be forcing,” he insists, and indeed, there’s no wariness in his gaze. “I would be honored to serve you.” Elrond’s mouth thins. He didn’t expect the first order to hold, up against Thranduil’s as it would be, but Lindir certainly looks sincere. His eyes hold no discontentment as they climb Elrond’s body, though Elrond is surely far older than this elf, wizened and nowhere near so... _pretty_. Nonetheless, Lindir’s voice drops, and he quietly suggests, “Perhaps... if the idea makes my lord uncomfortable, I may perform other duties? I am trained as an attendant, not simply for bed...”

“It would be unfair,” Elrond acknowledges, “to separate you from your home and family.” Lindir frowns, obviously disagreeing. 

He looks down, seems to gather himself, and says from the floor, “I... I have always wished for more than the enclosed walls of my home. Forgive me for my insolence, but I find Imladris as beautiful as its lord.” Both of Elrond’s brows lift, surprised to say the least. 

Lindir keeps his head hung, waiting. There’s no hesitation in him that Elrond can see. Thranduil is strict, but he doesn’t teach his subjects to lie. In truth, Elrond would like this fair creature to stay, warm by his side if possible, but he prefers to rule with his heart and mind as opposed to his base longings. He bends, perching carefully on one knee, and scoops his hand beneath Lindir’s face.

Gently gripping Lindir’s chin, Elrond lifts it. Lindir looks up at him, smiles small and hopeful, and asks, “Please, my lord. Allow me to stay. You will not have noticed me, but I have noticed you every time my king has allowed me the pleasure to come here. I apologize for my running tongue, but I wish you to know that it is not his will alone that offers me. I have wished to reside in this wondrous place, and I wish to attend to its fair ruler, if I may.” He doesn’t say quite how, but there’s an offer in his eyes that’s unmistakable, a youthful desire. Elrond drops his hand, and Lindir bows again, ever bent into submission. 

It’s something to consider, but quickly, and Elrond’s doubts don’t hold out for very long. He can’t deny that he already finds delight in this wanton treat who gives himself over so easily, and it seems cruel to deny something asked so sweetly. So Elrond sighs, “Very well.” Lindir doesn’t move, but when Elrond lifts his face again, he’s smiling very wide, his eyes crinkled with it. 

He murmurs, “I will not disappoint you, my lord.” Indeed, it looks like he would give Elrond _everything_ , and they hardly yet know one another. As Elrond’s hand lingers, Lindir turns to press a soft kiss into his palm, full of want and promise. Already, Elrond enjoys him. 

But Elrond explains, “The first thing you must adjust to is that I do not have my subjects bow quite so low.” Lindir nods, but he doesn’t yet move, not white Elrond’s still kneeling, and Elrond takes each of Lindir’s arms in his, helping Lindir to rise. When they both stand, Lindir’s cheeks stain pink, hotter by the passing moment, and it forces Elrond to imagine, if only for a flash, laying him bare, flushed and hungry in the midst of a mattress. He looks like he’s meant to be _ravished_ , and he bears himself so alluring for Elrond alone. Whether Elrond’s accepted him for a concubine or a platonic assistant, they have yet to clarify, but it’s becoming quickly clear which one Elrond will give in to. 

For now, he guides his new gift down the steps. He’ll send another servant back for the scroll and box. He uses one hand to splay against Lindir’s back and guide him along the path, mostly for an excuse to _touch_ , and Lindir smiles so brightly as to put shame to all the stars.


End file.
